LEATHERMAN

Made of ancient yellowing leather
The Leatherman haunts the forest,
Hunting for some human prey
Ever moving, almost never at rest.

Overlapping flaps of tanned cowhide,
Make up the body of the Leatherman,
Nothing decent resides within him
As he traverses the open woodland.

Forests are his only true abode
The one place that he can call home,
And through the verdant ranges
Night and day the Leatherman roams.

Triangular slats of tarnished leather
Make up the body of this creature,
Rough-hewn limbs and abdomen
A leathery face without any features.

Leathery arms and leathery hands
With no fingers only hanging flaps,
He casts them out like long lassoes
Around victims whom he entraps.

Made of ancient yellowing leather
The Leatherman hunts human prey,
Flinging out his leathery tendrils
At everybody who passes his way,

A leathery body without a heart
Nothing worthwhile lies within,
All he loves is committing mayhem
Hurting, maiming, and even killing.

The unsuspecting walk the forest
Loving the woody brown and green,
Unaware they will soon be dying
Not a trace left of where they've been.

THE END
© Copyright 2022 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia